


Message in a Bottle

by WeCouldBeCircumbinary



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Implied SolFef, arasol - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldBeCircumbinary/pseuds/WeCouldBeCircumbinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You feel like you could think of someone who would love it here, despite the lack of earth, despite the abundance of concrete - their name is on the tip of your tongue, even if you can't quite get it. It bugs you frequently.</p><p>Your name is Sollux Captor, and your best friend moved to a big city and forgot you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Message in a Bottle

Every time your phone lights up, your heart gives a jerk and you nearly have a heart attack, practically tangle your own hands in your rush to check your phone. But each and every time, you just deflate like a balloon, sigh and stuff your phone away, often not even bother to answer whoever it was that actually messsaged or e-mailed or called you.

Because it isn't her. It's never her.

You like to fancy and fool yourself that she doesn't remember any of your info ( she does, and something in you knows that because it stings each time it isn't her ) and it's been eight months now. She hasn't called, she hasn't sent flowers...

Your name is Sollux Captor, and your best friend moved to a big city and forgot you.

She loved archaeology, the damp earth and the feel of it running between her long, slender fingers. Many were the times that you returned back to her house, you spotless ( it was always her thing, not yours, though you never failed to tag along ) and her? Demolished.

Dark skin coated in dirt, t-shirts dirtied and torn, long skirts always in a similar condition. Dirt smeared across her cheeks and hid the freckles that coated her cheeks, her round face and big, brown-maroon eyes alight with such happiness her father couldn't bear to scold her as she dragged that purloined shovel from the garage, covered in dirt and worms and grass, into the house and upstairs with her. The hardwood was poor Droog's only savior, the single father having a handful of too much daughter and way too much adoration for her.

Then, as you got older, you got a little dirty, too. One stolen shovel turned to two, the holes in the backyard turned into massive trenches in that unoccupied land between her house and the road that went through the center of town. Vaguely curious glares towards her progress turned into dirt fights in the bottom of a massive hole, and a treasure of shiny rocks rinsed in the creek turned to fossils and old cans and keys and all kinds of cool stuff.

She never stopped wearing her long skirts, but she started wearing tattered jeans and worn down shoes, her not-quite-hipster, vintage shop clothes making her look like some Hollywood burnout but she looked amazing anyways, so that was okay. She grew into all that baby fat but her eyes were still large, always filled with light and passion and wonderment, and you never ceased to admire her. She was... Incredible. So, so incredible.

And now? She's gone.

Your heart breaks every time you think about it, and sometimes, you like to send out texts, calls, anything - her old contact information is null, but you still do so, maybe just to wait for the soft ping, the subtle vibration that means she hasn't quite forgotten you.

It never comes, but as long as you keep trying, you fancy that you've got a chance against whatever city bloke took her away from you.

You don't blame her father's job, what took her away from wet, soft earth and a smart, bipolar blonde. You blame fate, and you hope that she blames it too.

You hope she thinks of you as often as you think of her.

\------

TA: hey aa  
TA: hope youre doiing ok  
TA: 2hiit over here ha2 been pretty boriing  
TA: kk ii2 2tiill an a22  
TA: tz i2 2tiil weiird a2 fuck  
TA: iim 2tiill  
TA: heh  
TA: you know how ii am

\------

Her hair, all natural curls and waves, tumbled like a russet and burgundy waterfall, shimmering with chocolate browns and deep reds, maroons like her favorite color, smooth as silk and soft as down, the strands falling to her waist in a cascade of mesmerization.

\------

TA: ii got a job  
TA: ff and ii got twogether  
TA: iim tiired but iim gettiing by  
TA: 2he2 not a2 good a2 you wiith the miigrane2 though

\------

It's been three years. You're seventeen now.

Feferi Peixes is sweet and funny, short and slender, sun-kissed and blue-eyed and blonde. She is giggly and you'd never admit that sometimes she annoys you. She pouts out that bottom lip of hers and you thinks it's kind of cute, actually, and she's a clumsy kisser but you're okay with that, and she's okay with that, so you guess it's okay.

God, you're okay. But that's it - okay. Not alright, not terrible, just okay. You hate that word.

She still hasn't contacted you. You nor your friends talk about her anymore. That's okay.

You don't want to talk about her, anyway.

\-----

TA: happy birthday aa  
TA: its my birthday two remember  
TA: heh  
TA: fef broke me of the quirks, but the twos arent going anywhere  
TA: right  
TA: well obviously you still arent going two answer so  
TA: later aa

\------

Five years. You're nineteen now.

Feferi and you have broken up - on good terms, yeah. You weren't really hurt of it. She's so happy with Eridan, that honestly, it would hurt you more to hold her down and try to work it out than it did to let her go.

All she was, really, was a reminder.

You've pushed caramel skin and russet curls, white teeth and burgundy eyes from your mind. Callused skin and that sweet voice, the smell of cinnamon and earth far in the recesses of your mind.

You're moving out of the old apartment, since you can't pay for the rent yourself. Fef used to help, but now that she's gone you don't even bother trying. You've been looking at places and something deep in you, like some memory you can't remember, compelled you to commit to a place in New York City.

Something also compels you to sit in the park after the rain, where it smells like earth and dirt, with a cinnamon and honey ( but mostly cinnamon ) flavoured coffee, to just enjoy your last day in this old town.

\------

TA: hey uh  
TA: i dont really know who this number is but  
TA: i have you in as  
TA: apocalypseArisen  
TA: it rings a bell but  
TA: yeah uh anyway  
TA: when you get a chance two, if you could refresh my memory a bit, thatd be great  
TA: so yeah  
TA: later

\------

You've been in the Big Apple for a month. It's nice, you've decided, even if you don't know why you wanted a place here originally. You feel like you could think of someone who would love it here, despite the lack of earth, despite the abundance of concrete - their name is on the tip of your tongue, even if you can't quite get it.

It bugs you frequently.

\------

apocalypseArisen (???)

Delete contact?  
Yes/No?

> Yes.

Are you sure?  
Yes/No?

> Yes.

Please wait...  
Please wait...

> Cancel.

Deletion canceled.

\------

Three months. It's autumn, unlike autumn in the towns because of the lack of trees and it rains a lot, but you like a subtle smell of earth the rain carries. Despite this, though, you have to escape the chill. Your blue windbreaker is doing nothing against the season's chill and you're dying for a coffee ( cinnamon and honey, your favorite ).

You hear the clatter of a dish and don't look up.

You hear a gasp, the hitching of breath, and honestly you're too tired and cold to care.

You hear a sweet voice, matured beyond belief but obviously holding that same tone of wonderment, of pure happiness, and you whip your head around and you've never seen her cry before.

You've never seen her this happy, though, either.

You don't think so, anyway.

"SOLLUX!"

She nearly tackles you to the ground and everyone in the dainty little coffee shop is staring at you and holy shit, are you crying? Yeah, you're definitely crying. You're kind of okay with that.

Okay: never before was there a more beautiful word, as mundane as it was.

"Holy shit, AA. Aradia. You - "

You want to be mad at her, but she's sobbing and then she's grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you down and you bet you're going to have lipstick stains on your lips, but you don't care because she's kissing you and it's her, oh god it's her, finally.

When she finally pulls away she laughs and wipes the lipstick from your mouth and you just grin. She makes a comment about how you grew out of your lisp and you don't respond because people in the cafe are clapping and you're laughing and she's laughing and you're okay.

Needless to say, that apartment back home quite suddenly had two incomes for paying the rent, and soon smelled like earth, cinnamon, honey, and shitty cologne.

You've never been more okay in your entire life.

\------

TA: so hey aa  
TA: you know youre really great  
TA: and its sucked a lot without you  
TA: but youre here now so i guess its fine  
TA: so uh  
TA: i guess what i wanted two say is  
AA: i l0ve y0u t00 s0llux  
TA: interrupting people is rude aa  
AA: yes i am aware thank y0u

\------

It's been two seconds.

You laugh and look to your left, and you kiss the girl on the couch beside you, both of you grinning and laughing like idiots.

Did you mention you were okay?


End file.
